I've known Bill Miranda for a very long time. The fact of his passing has affected me deeply. We both grew up in San Francisco but didn't meet until 1955 when we joined the California Maritime Academy as enthusiastic young cadets with our whole lives before us. Upon graduation we went our separate ways, Bill into the military and I into the Merchant Marine after a brief stint in the Navy. 

 I remember when he first met the love of his life, Carmen. I remember the apartment they shared in San Francisco and the birth of their first child, Jeanette, followed by Margaret.

As time passed we found ourselves separated by most of a continent. Bill and his family settled near Chicago while I stayed on the West Coast. Although separated geographically by thousands of miles, we managed to maintain our connection via telephone, email and occasional visits when time would allow. I shared his joy over their children's successes and his pride over their grandchildren and, most recently, their great-grandchildren. His family meant the world to Bill.

When he fell and suffered a stroke recently it never dawned on me that he might pass because he fought so hard to continue living, strengthened by the love he felt for his family and the joy and pride he felt for their achievements. Carmen and their family were everything to Bill.

The discovery of cancer when he was recovering so well from his stroke and its attendant consequences was a complete shock to me but I was convinced he would overcome this new challenge as he had the previous ones. I was shocked and deeply saddened to learn of his demise.

As we age we reluctantly accept the inevitable loss of our contemporaries but Bill's death came as a complete and stunning shock to me. I just thought that he would somehow always be there for me.

Aging sucks.